


Nighttime Companion

by lunadiane



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Barely shippy, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Human Outsider (Dishonored), Post-DotO, i've been staring at this for months, just take this piece of trash, kinda OOC, sleepy banter and shit idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 20:43:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20234074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunadiane/pseuds/lunadiane
Summary: It's well past the Empress's bedtime.





	Nighttime Companion

Emily reached for the nearest elixir only to find it empty.

So was the one beside it, and the next. The darkness of Dunwall beyond her windows was only punctured by a few whale-oil lamps and her lit study. Looking up from her current proposal regarding the bloodfly infestations in Karnaca this year, she finally noticed the piles of paperwork cluttering her entire desk and the floor littered with crumpled drafts. She had started with one neat stack to her left, all the things that needed her attention, intending to create a second ‘completed’ stack to her right. It should have been simple. Read, write, place. Read, write, place.

Now it was a mess. At some point she’d gotten the idea to categorize her paperwork into sections regarding industry, security, society and...Emily picked up the topmost leaf from a mystery stack. Proposal for a change of decorative banners at the Estate District? She wrinkled her nose at the self-important prose blustering about the aesthetics of colour or whatnot, signed by a minor noble, and tossed it to the floor. A ‘waste of time’ pile seemed in order. 

Apart from a measly stack of completed work, the rest weren’t much help either. There were various drafts for all manner of things scattered around, a small bundle of papers consisting of hastily scribbled ideas regarding a new policy, typed proposals with her own amendments, strikethroughs, and increasingly spiky and abbreviated comments of her own impatient handwriting, a folded piece of paper where one half of what was written had been crossed out and the remaining space filled with a to-do list, dotted with red drops of a spilled elixir…

Emily yawned at the creeping weight of fatigue pressing down on her shoulders, prickling her eyes, and tucked the list elsewhere. She really should have another one elsewhere in her office, and pulled out drawers to find them empty, noticing even more drained flasks on the floor. She found more, useless to her, and clicked her tongue in frustration as she shifted the walls of documents around her.

Nights sifting through paperwork frequently got long, and she relied on the occasional elixir or two to get her through when a particular report (which turned into many, many more) couldn’t wait. Had she really drunk them all?

Emily sat back in her chair, exhaling as she tilted her head back and loosened her hair from its tight updo. The elixirs could restore energy and sew shut even the most fatal of injuries, with the secondary effect of reducing the need to eat. But her stomach remained empty, and the gnawing feeling in her stomach inevitably returned. 

The grandfather clock struck, and Emily looked up to see the clock hand at four in her brightly-lit room. Across her desk, a tray of dinner sat cold and untouched on her sitting table, and Emily vaguely remembered a maid delivering it to her hours ago. With her supply of elixir constant, she guiltily recalled the many meals prepared for her by the Palace kitchens which were eventually thrown out. 

In an armchair next to the table - Emily froze - was the Outsider.

His mortal form, either way - leaning back with one leg folded flat against the seat and ankle resting on the other knee, thighs parted with his hands clasped together in his lap.

His head lolled back slightly, making him look the image of indolence and ease. Emily stared, struck by how _ human _ he looked, his posture only heightening the impertinence in his manner, black velvet nightgown over sleep pants in the Imperial study like a confidant or _ lover- _

“Visitors usually _ knock _first before entering the Empress’s office, you know.” She stated, her tone coming out harsher than intended. She blamed her creeping fatigue and his surprise appearance.

“I’m sure you know what to expect regarding my visits.” His voice was - naturally - fainter from where he sat, something Emily found strange. She had gotten used to his words reverberating around her, as if the air itself had decided to speak.

“Time freezing, a world of black and white, or being yanked off my feet into the Void itself.” Emily recounted tiredly, rubbing her temples, “But you don’t command the Void anymore, so I expect a warning before I shoot at you on instinct.”

Giving him a room in Dunwall Tower might have been a mistake. Still, the idea of him waiting for her was too humourous to give up. “How long have you been sitting there?” 

He turned his head to look at the clock, a slow, languid motion, and back again, before meeting her eyes. “Approximately twenty-three minutes.”

Twenty-three minutes of him sitting still, just to appear as if he’d materialized out of thin air in front of her. “And what are you doing here?”

His eyes closed, remaining shut for a few seconds before sliding open. It reminded Emily of a trusting cat, or a person fighting drowsiness, and she smirked. “Few monarchs would have their study lit at such a late hour, Empress.” He drawled. “It affected my slumber.”

“Really? The doors are thick.” She dryly doubted. Emily set her fountain pen down and stood up, moving toward the sitting area. She walked around his half-lidded gaze, the Outsider staring absently past her, and a thought made her cock her head slightly. “So why are you now in a brightly-lit room with no hope of sleep?” She teased, before crouching at the low cabinet set against the wall and opening it. 

A full bottle of Addermire solution greeted her and Emily took it, only for the Outsider to curl his fingers around her wrist and stop her. 

"Your reliance on these elixirs surpass an alcoholic's."

"I have work to finish." She said simply, dryly.

"You have work to finish _ tomorrow _." He corrected, grip unyielding for someone with such scrawny arms even as she attempted to tug her arm away. "And you-" he nodded toward the dinner tray, "-are consigning the work of your farmers and kitchen staff to the dumpster."

Emily felt a pang of guilt. There were and had always been people starving in the Empire, but she had long assured herself it was impossible to eradicate it. "Eating would take too long. I need to finish these policies for court," She found herself defending. 

"Then by all means, make sure this meal actually finds its way to a vagrant." He sneered. “ It would be poor hospitality from an Empress, but the poor wouldn’t mind. Any beggar would be thrilled to eat the thinnest of meals off the filthy ground.” 

Emily frowned at him and tried to tug her hand from his grasp, which only tightened. For someone as scrawny as he was, he had a surprisingly strong grip. “I don’t have time for this."

“It will be the best meal the beggars will have in a long time, nevertheless.” He carried on unheeding, contemptuous, "Mold and rot cannot hide the sweetness of fruit ripened in Morley’s chill, nor the spice of Serkonos infused into a whale’s calf killed for nothing.” The Outsider shrugged mockingly. “Where else could they ever have such a fine meal? You’d be doing them a favour.”

Emily huffed. "Fine," and placed the bottle down, sitting at the nearest armchair and setting the dinner tray onto her lap. Even while cold, the flavours of marinated whale burst on her tongue, and her eating grew faster to sate the return of her appetite. The Outsider watched her cut into the meat with barely concealed distaste. 

After a significant pause, during which all she could hear were the sounds of her own chewing and the clink of silverware, he rose - rather gracefully - from his seat to grasp the Addermire solution and tuck it into his nightgown as if it was a greatcoat. It formed a conspicuous bump along his slender silhouette.

"Put that back." Emily commanded after swallowing. 

"These healing concoctions are wasted as a sleep supplement, your Majesty."

“You do realize I stay up so late _ in order to fulfill my duties? _” She snapped. 

“Even the most well-intentioned error is still an error.” He scowled. “You lavish your attentions on the most trivial of matters, grumbling all the way about how they waste your time, when they are indulgences to distract you from the most pressing matters. Your citizens deserve better than a sleep-deprived Empress who spends her waking hours on frivolity and whose whims fluctuate according to how much elixir and caffeine she’s ingested.”

Emily wanted to be mad at the Outsider, to be offended and order him out of her study, but a yawn overtook her before she could reply. Fatigue settled back onto her sagging shoulders, pinching her neck, and she abandoned etiquette to slouch in her seat and shovel another bite into her mouth. Sleep sounded marvelous at this point, and the paperwork she most loathed were the ones wasting her time. "You sound like Corvo." She blurted out instead. 

“Perhaps Father Dearest-” and at this moment the Outsider yawned as well, stretching his limbs to look like an underfed cat, “-has a point, Emily.” 

Across her, sprawled on her armchair sat nothing more than a sleepy youth, and Emily suppressed the sudden urge to stick her tongue out at him, refusing to be physically dragged into their immature bickering. She hid a smile instead, rather unsuccessfully.

“Has anyone told you you’d make a good governess?” Emily teased, voice muffled with food. “Your skills at guilt-tripping are impeccable.”

“I’ve had millennia of disappointing Marked to hone them.” He said mildly. “If you decide to throw me out of the Tower someday, that could serve as alternative employment.”

She never would, Emily mused, returning to her dinner. He was far to entertaining and insightful to let go. 

When the Outsider actually cared to speak in comprehensible statements, he was usually right. She should have thrown out pointless proposals and concentrated on the true work of running the Empire years ago, but Emily knew she had seized the chance then to while away the hours with unimportant matters that were easily replied to. 

It was several minutes before she scraped the last of her meal off the polished plate, and when she looked up, the Outsider had fallen asleep, head bent and body curled, tilting to one side. The bottle of Addermire solution had fallen from his dressing gown and lay against the armrest. Emily giggled at the sight, the former god appearing much younger in his vulnerable state. 

Gently, she dislodged him from the chair and carried him back to his room, his chest evenly rising and falling as she pulled the blankets over him. Before she left to finally get some rest, Emily took her chance to watch him for a few quiet moments. Instead of twisted and sneering in his usual contempt, in sleep, his pale features were soft and relaxed. 


End file.
